Much to my amazement, I did it. Nearly 10 miles on a pitch-black, hostile evening, when I really didn’t feel like it. A desperate day at work. I got home late-ish, weary and disillusioned. I’m not into speed training, but twice on the way home I was forced to produce explosive bursts of sprinting — in vain. First at Paddington, between the Bakerloo tube train and platform 10 of the mainline station, where I arrived, panting, to see the 18:18 moving off without me; and at Reading, between the train and the local branch of Sweatshop, where I wanted to replenish my supply of Powergels in preparation for my 20 miler this weekend.… READ MORE.... …